What The Mind Needs
by StaryNight19
Summary: Jules is haveing problems concentrateing. Could it be time at Shillingworth?
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I wrote this as a first time Fanfic. I do not own any of these charactors, nor am I making any money off them. Any misspellings and mistakes are mine. Sorry.

  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


What The Mind Needs

  


  


Jules Verne was sitting in the rose garden of Shillingworth Magna. The sun was warm and gentle as it set and he was engrossed in his drawing. He had a new idea that was growing in his head. A way to water Passepartout's roses when ever he wasn't here. As he drew Phileas Fogg stood in the doorway watching him. Dinner was on the table but he wasn't about to interrupt Jules and his writing, or drawing. It was so hard to tell what exactly he was doing in his notebook. As he watched Jules drawing a slight warmth came over him. _This is how he should always be. Happy and safe, letting his ideas grow. _thought Phileas. As he turned to go tell Passepartout and Rebecca that Verne might be a bit late, Jules jumped up and hurried over. 

  


"I'm coming Fogg, sorry but th most wonderful idea hit me as I was writing for my play and I wanted to draw it out."

  


"I do wish you'd be more considerate of the fact that we were going to have to wait for you Verne." Came Phileas' normal and cool headed reply.

  


Jules nodded and followed looking at his book. "I'm sorry it won't happen again"

  


Phileas nodded and had a seat at the table where Rebecca was sitting and trying not to smile as Jules had a seat as well. Jules seemed in a lot of thought recently. Even if he was drawing or writing, other things seemed to play his mind that neither Phileas nor Rebecca, nor even Passepartout seemed able to get him to release. 

  


After dinner, Jules retired politely to the guest room he was staying at and Phileas sat in the lounge reading a book sipping a brandy while Rebecca sat nearby reading a brief for a mission she would takeing soon.

  


"We may have to drop Jules off in Paris as this time I'll be going to Spain.", spoke Rebecca.

  


Phileas let his book fall slightly and raised a half interested brow. "And why, dear cousin are you to be going to Spain in the middle of March?"

  


"It's quite simple really, I'm to steal back a very important parchment that Great Britain and Spain have been fighting over for a long time. If this parchment were to be in British hands, the queen would be able to negotiate with Scotland."

  


Phileas sipped his brandy and shook his head. "They're only playing with you Rebecca, they could send any of their other agents on that type of a mission."

  


"I know Phileas but I would rather like to do this as it would be an excuse to send Jules home. Not that I don't like having him as I'm sure you don't, but he seems preoccupied and might need to return home for some rest from our fancey life stye."

  


  


Phileas sighs and thought this over. It was true he did like having Verne here. He could keep an eye on him and Verne could relax and work. But he also felt something was wrong with Verne, as if he felt he was relying too much on his british friends hospitality.

  


If Fogg had known how right he was he would have predicted what Jules was up to. Upstairs he was paceing and paceing trying to think of the next line of his play. And if not that, then to wear himself into exhaustion. The first few days here he had been able to think so freely. The thoughts poured from his head so fast, he could barely sketch or write them down fast enough. But now, he couldn't even think straight. His mind was blurry from who knows what and he did feel very much like he was imposeing upon his friends for letting him stay here.

  


As he paced and tried to think, Rebecca had come upstairs and gently opened his door. She watched sadly as Jules tried to write only to crumple it up and go back to paceing. _Yes, _she thought, _It is time for you to go home Jules._

  


  


  



	2. What The Mind Thinks

Author's Note: Thought I'd add a chapter so people would know why Jules was feeling what he did.

  


Disclaimer: I am only writing this as practise Fan Fiction. I am not making any money off of this, nor do I own any of these charactors. 

  


  


What The Mind Thinks

  


  


Jules Verne slept on his desk. His hands were on the parchment of paper where an unfinished drawing was. As he slept thoughts raced across his mnd. Memories and ideas were floating faintly in his mind. He saw Arago mouthing something to him, but he couldn't see what it was. He then saw Phileas offering him a glass of brandy, and Rebecca smiling as she did a bit of needle work. He looked around and saw his surroundings became more clear. He was at Shillingworth Magna reading a book. But something wasn't right. Why didn't it feel right? _The Foggs are my friends._ He pondered as the dream went on. Suddenly he saw Count Greggory. He was everywhere, he was everyone. _No!_

  


"No!" Jules jumped awake and looked around blinking.

  


Morning and the sun was just peeking into his garret, his sketch had long since been finished. _When had I finished it? I don't even remember going to sleep._ he thought. He stretched and yawned and dropped the pencil on the desk looking out his window with a faint smile. It was good to be home, he didn't dislike the Foggs abd he prayed he hadn't seemed rude in his eagerness to leave. They had been kind enough to offer him a trip home before Rebecca went to Spain and Jules had jumped to take it realizeing a bit too late, that it sounded like he wasn't happy there.

  


_It's not that I'm not happy. I love being there, but being there only makes me feel I'm imposing. Like I'm forceing myself to stay._

  


__He tried to convince himself that that was just it. That he was only a friend after all. He wasn't suppose to want to stay with the Foggs all the time. Despite his feelings for them as friends, he was beginning to see them as family. Part of his family, with the same likes and dislikes.

  


Jules stopped his thinking and slid his jacket on. He needed breakfast and he needed to think of a way to appologize to the Foggs without exactly saying he was sorry. They wouldn't bring up how fast he got packed or how fast he left with them, but he still felt a little upset. With that he left his garret testing the door before he wandered into the streets of Paris to begin another day of writeing and thinking and drinking.

  


  


That night Jules was just finishing a glass of the cafe's cheap wine which Pierre had been kind enough to buy for him. He was a bit drunk and loathed the idea of going back to his garret. It was cold, he would be hungry, and he'd have to fight off more conflicts with himself about his honor, dignity and moral views. He walked hazily down the street avoiding dark alleys as he had been told so many times to do. He made the few steps up to his garret and closed the door behind him. He wanted to do some more writing on his play, he had an idea in the back of his head about a ship that ran under the sea, so far that a giant squid could.... He sighed and collapsed unto his bed in his jacket and shoes and started to close his eyes. Despite others opinions, drinking cleared Jules' mind and right now he knew what was really on his mind.

  


_I'm scared they'll turn me away_, he thought.

  


_That's why I always feel bad asking them for help. They're the only ones I can turn to, for help and support, and they could turn me away........_


End file.
